And suddenly she was aware that she was naked beneath her robe, her skin still damp from the bath.
She could ignore his comment, laugh it off, but she had a feeling she’d only postpone the inevitable. She looked up slowly, letting her gaze connect with his. She was beyond delighted with him. It seemed they’d started out on the wrong foot, and now they were learning to work together, maybe trust each other. It wasn’t such a big step to indulging in a little extracurricular fling.
“What hidden talents?” she asked softly.
He reached out, it seemed in slow motion, and with one finger followed the path of a damp ringlet from behind her ear, following its path down her neck. She felt the wetness of her own hair and the dry, slightly rough pad of his fingertip snaking his way lower. How far would he go? she wondered.
How far would she let him?
Their eyes met and held. She’d never seen him without his glasses on and all of a sudden she wondered what he’d look like without them.
“You smell good.”
She felt good.
“Your skin is warm.”
He had no idea.
He let his hand fall to her shoulder. She didn’t move forward and she didn’t shrug it off. She couldn’t decide what she wanted. To listen to her body jangling with desire meant to throw caution to the winds and sleep with a guy she hardly knew. To ignore the pull of desire meant calling on self-control she wasn’t sure she had in sufficient quantities.
He didn’t move forward either. She wondered if he was engaging in the same mental process. “Is there anyone at home I should know about?” he asked at last.
“You mean like a husband?”
He shrugged. “Husband, lover, boyfriend.”
“No to the first. Not at the moment to the second and we broke up three months ago to the third.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
She tilted her head to the side, looking up at him. “You?”
He hesitated long enough that her stomach tightened. As she was starting to pull away so his hand would fall away, he said, “No. Nobody at home.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
A tiny smile tilted her mouth. “So, we’re both single.”
“Seems that way.”
The moment lengthened, they gazed at each other in quiet contemplation, then he leaned in and kissed her slow and sure, a man who clearly liked to take his time. A man, as she’d seen so clearly from those pictures, who enjoyed women. She let herself go, let herself begin to dissolve into his embrace. His lips weren’t demanding, they were more testing, exploring.
The zinging heat that went back and forth between them was insistent. When he deepened the kiss she found herself clinging to him. Her hands around him, her head falling back.
Oh, it had been too long since she’d taken some time for herself, time to let go and enjoy her own body against that of a sexy guy. She’d been working too hard, she thought dimly, but she must have been out of her mind to let this part of her life lie fallow.
They kissed for a long time, tasting, teasing, exploring. He moved his hand to her knee, nudging it open, and her leg bumped the table.
With an expression of impatience, he let go of her completely and turned to shove the table out of the way. A single photo fluttered to the floor, a model wearing something blue, she thought idly.
He dropped down beside her. Cupped the back of her neck and went back to kissing her. He kissed like a man who didn’t plan on stopping at kisses.
Waves of heat floated up and down her body as he angled himself over her, kissing her more deeply.
Oh, he tasted good. Strong, tender, somehow American. When he drew back to look down at her, she reached for his glasses and eased them off. “I love your eyes.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady.
He undid the sash of her robe and pushed the edges away. He made a tiny sound and then kissed her breasts until they tingled, and the tingling moved all over her. “I’ve been thinking about this since I first met you.”
She chuckled. “Thinking about kissing my breasts?” She tried to keep it light, but already her heart was racing and her breath was coming faster.
“I was thinking about making love to you.”
“You were?”
“Yes.” He kissed his way from one aroused nipple to the other. “When I saw you that first night with your shoes snapping and your skirt swinging I knew I wanted you even though I thought you only spoke French.”
“I—” She sighed, shifting to wrap her arms around him, and bumped her elbow on the sofa. “You know, there’s a wonderful bed in the bedroom. Soft, civilized.”
He kissed his way between her breasts to her belly. “Maybe later.”
“Later,” she agreed as he slowly began kissing his way down to where she was hot, needy and open for him.
He took his time reaching his destination, which was both frustration and agonizing pleasure. He toyed at her hipbone, turning that into an erogenous zone, nuzzled his way down her thigh to her knees. Oh, wrong direction, wrong. Other way!
After he’d teased her inner knee, he began the slow, agonizing climb, stopping to taste her skin on the way. She tossed, restless, desperate for release when she felt him shift, felt the warm waft of his breath where she needed him most. She held her breath for a moment, then he put his mouth on her, wet and hot and oh, yes, exactly there. He toyed with her, teased her, taking her up and relentlessly up. She felt carpet beneath her clutching fingers and as she grew closer to the inevitable explosion, her head fell back and she saw the gorgeous long windows, the lacy drapes like a fancy frame and centered in the middle, the Eiffel Tower bright with lights and as glowing and festive as she felt.
Paris. “Oui,” she whispered. Then as he moved relentlessly to her hot button, his tongue stroking her to madness, it turned into a cry. “Oui, oui!”
She lay there a moment with her eyes closed, absorbing the pleasure all over again. Her skin was supersensitive, pulsing with the aftershocks of passion. He lay beside her, stroking her softly, giving her time to enjoy the moment.
She opened her eyes, lazy and satisfied, and then felt a rather smug grin form. “I’m naked and had an orgasm and you haven’t even got your shirt off.”
“Guess I work faster than you.”
She snorted, gathering her robe together and yanking him to his feet. “Guess it’s my turn. And I do my best work in the bedroom.”
8
SHE FLICKED on a low lamp on the bedside, which bathed the room in romance. Then she dropped her robe and approached him, naked.
She loved how his eyes devoured her and his hands reached for her before they were close enough to touch. She undressed him slowly. She wasn’t shallow enough to like him for his wardrobe, but undeniably, the clothes added to his appeal. And under the sophisticated elegance of the clothes, she took pleasure in his body, the hard muscles of an outdoorsman. His torso tanned all over. Long, powerful legs, and a cock that looked made to ride.
“Did you bring condoms?”
His face fell in comical dismay. “No. I was thinking about the proofs. I didn’t think you’d be in a robe with nothing under it but steam.” He backed away. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I have some.” She grinned, slipping into the bathroom. “I was just checking to see how sure of me you were.”
“Not at all.”
She thought of the way he’d kissed her earlier, the single word later. She suspected he’d known, as she had, that this thing with them was inevitable.
She led him to her bed, leaving the light on since, if there was one thing she knew about him it was that he was a visual guy. “Want to know a secret?” she whispered as she pushed him to his back and kissed the spot above his heart, where she could see his pulse beating.
“What?”
She kissed her way down a belly that was taut and muscular and took her time fitting him with the condom. “I’d have had sex with you even if your picture
s turned out to be lousy.”
He laughed. “You are so easy.”
The laugh turned to a groan as she straddled him and took him inside her body. She’d intended to take her time, but she found once she started moving on him she couldn’t move slowly. She needed hard and fast and he had no trouble keeping up with her. His eyes devoured her, but, oddly, he used his hands almost the way a blind person would, as though he needed the information from his hands to really see her. She’d never felt such total focus and it seemed to sharpen her vision of him so they were completely and intimately with and in each other. He seemed instinctively to know what she wanted, until she lost count of how many times he made her cry out. When they were both spent, she got out of bed, poured them some wine and brought it back.
They sipped.
“I should probably head back,” he said.
“Ah, so you’re one of those men.”
“One of what men?” He looked aggrieved and suspicious.
“The kind of men who run out the second the physical part of the evening is over.”
“I was thinking you needed your sleep.”
“I’ve got a few minutes.” She pushed pillows behind her and leaned against them, sipping. “To talk.”
“Talk.”
“Who was she?”
He let out a huge sigh. “Couldn’t you start with my favorite color or something?”
Her lips twitched. “I already know your favorite color. It’s blue.” Seeing his eyes widen, she explained, “Most of your wardrobe is blue. Also the trim on your camera case.” She laid a hand on his chest, still warm and bumping away as his heart slowed down. “So, who was she? The woman who left you fumbling for the answer to your current romantic status?”
He flopped back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. A moment passed. “She was Rebecca.”
“Rebecca. Pretty name.”
There was another pause. She ran her hand over his belly, strong and six-packed from all that mountaineering or whatever it was he did. Obviously he realized that simply telling her Rebecca’s name wasn’t going to cut it.
“She’s a wildlife biologist in Oregon. We met protesting habitat destruction of the spotted owl, and one thing led to another.”
She’d left her hand on his stomach and she liked the way it vibrated as he talked. She wondered if he’d ever describe how they’d met. A woman in a flirty skirt and killer heels bumping into him in the Rue de Rivoli wasn’t exactly in the same ballpark as meeting over endangered wildlife.
Oh, well. So she was no wilderness woman. She’d fought her battles. She’d been vocal about designer knockoffs damaging the industry and exploiting the world’s poorest, and she’d written several articles about the importance of healthy body weight in models. And—
“I’m completely opposed to using real fur, you know,” she blurted out.
He gazed down at her blankly, his mind obviously wandering in the Cascade Mountains with the spotty owl and Rebecca the warrior woman.
“In fashion. I also belong to PETA. Just so you know.”
A glint of humor warmed his eyes. “Duly noted.”
She doubted he’d ever have a reason to tell the story of them meeting. She wondered if this affair would even last the whole of couture week. Tracing her hand up to his chest, she had to admit to herself that she hoped it would. “Go on. About Rebecca.”
“I thought she was the one. We have the same interests, got on well, and I figured in a couple of years we’d go to the next level.”
“You mean, get married?”
He lifted a hand and scratched his chest. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What happened?”
“I hate talking about this stuff.”
“Just answer this last question and I promise you can go.”
“I wasn’t the one for her. That’s what happened. She met somebody else.” She could hear a raw note in his voice. It still hurt.
“When did it happen?”
“Couple of months back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Being single has its compensations.”
“It does at that.”
“Okay, your turn.”
She reviewed her dating history as though it were a slide show. “I’m single in Manhattan. Lots of parties, openings, plenty of up-and-coming young lawyers, bankers, some cool artists and writers. Nothing too serious. I guess I haven’t met the right guy yet.”
“I’m guessing none of those guys are like me.”
She chuckled, thinking of the designer suits, wafer-thin platinum watches. She knew men who spent more money and time on their hair than she did. “None of them are anything like you.” She turned to her side and kissed him softly. “As the French say, Vive la différence.”
“You know what else the French say?”
She shook her head.
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? It’s the only French I know. Do you want to sleep with me?”
She laughed. “Oui.”
He kissed her, and then rolled over so she was underneath him. It was almost light when he left the hotel.
THE NEXT DAY Kimi hit four fashion shows, interviewed two up-and-coming designers and went to a luncheon sponsored by a jeweler. Holden was off on mysterious errands that no doubt involved secret handshakes and code words. They met up at a gala reception that evening to honor a retiring designer.
“I like your Kate Spade clutch,” he said when he caught sight of her.
Her lips twitched. “Very good. Shoes?”
“Jimmy Choo.”
“Impressive. As are you in Valentino.”
“Thanks. Couldn’t get the second cuff link on, though.” He held out his palm and she picked up the simple gold piece and swiftly fixed his cuff.
“So, who is this dude?”
He’d learned all about present and future fashion but had no idea about what had gone before. She patted Holden’s cheek. “There’s so much I have to teach you.”
His eyes smoldered as he leaned closer. “You taught me a thing or two last night. There’s a thing you do with your tongue…”
Even though she knew he was being deliberately provocative, she couldn’t help the sweep of heat or the satisfaction of knowing he was thinking about last night as often as she was. They might have nothing at all in common, but once they were naked and in bed, their bodies were perfectly matched.
“I had a good time,” she said softly. Then realizing they needed to turn their attention back to work, she said, “How did you make out today?”
“Got more details of the last three thefts. I’m convinced there’s a connection. Same MO. Always during a big show. A dress gets pulled because of damage or a mix-up or something, then disappears.”
“During the show?” That sounded preposterous.
“Sometime between the show and the next time anybody checks on the items. Usually a twenty-four-hour window.”
“It sounds crazy.”
“I know.” He was scanning the crowd, a glittering collection of fashion-industry professionals, celebrities, minor royalty, the rich and the usual hangers-on.
“Do you have a twin?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m an only child.” She always felt sort of weird saying that, since she did in fact have half brothers and sisters, but the fact that her father refused to acknowledge her to his second family made them forever strangers to her.
“Then your doppelgänger is right over there.”
She glanced over the crowded salon and drew a sharp breath when she saw a young woman around her own age glancing around the room like a kid in a toy store. The woman did look like her. Quite a bit like her. Same eyes and hair, which they’d both inherited from their father who right this moment was walking over to her.
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
“You okay?” Holden spoke soothingly, running a warm hand up her back.
“I need
to get some air,” she said, thinking only of escape. She dropped her head, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. In fact, invisible would be about right. She crept around the edges of the crowd and slipped out the back door to a deserted courtyard. There were a few wrought-iron tables and chairs, but the weather wasn’t warm enough yet for sitting outside. In summer, this would be beautiful. Now it was a quiet, dark refuge.
Holden had followed her. She felt his puzzlement, but he didn’t ask questions, for which she was fervently grateful. He stood to the side and let her pace the garden once, trying to regain her balance.
Finally she returned to his side to find him looking down at her with concern. She laughed, only mildly hysterically. “You must think I’m completely nuts.”
“No. I think you had a shock.”
“Pretty smart guy. That girl you noticed? I think she’s probably my half sister.”
“Which would make the older dude who went over to her…?”
“My father.”
“I’m guessing this family reunion was unplanned?”
“Correct again. I’ve never met my father or his second family. I only recognize him because I’ve kept up with him on the Internet. He and his, um, wife, are often in the society pages of the Italian press.”
“Big shots.”
“Minor royalty.”
He looked unimpressed. “How could he never want to meet his own child?”
“Oh, don’t be too hard on him.” Sighing, she rested against a cold, iron table. “He did want to marry my mother when she told him she was pregnant, but she turned him down. She said they didn’t love each other and she could manage a baby perfectly well by herself. Truthfully, I doubt he was brokenhearted. He’d offered to do the right thing and was refused. As far as he was concerned, honor was satisfied.”
“But what about the kid? What about you?”
“He set me up with a nice trust fund.” She shrugged. “What more could I possibly want?”
“A real father?” he guessed, his voice soft.
“Well, you don’t always get what you want in life. I knew he had other kids, but I’ve never seen any of them.” She put a hand to her heart. “I certainly never expected to bump into them here at fashion week. What do I do?”
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